


Un Virée en Voiture

by kjack89



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Era, Developing Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-10-18 22:20:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17589464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/kjack89
Summary: Enjolras sighed and glanced at the coachman, who was standing at the ready. “Now I really must go.”“Will you not wait for your friend’s arrival?”Enjolras paused. “My friend?” he asked blankly. “What friend?”“Your delightful associate Mr. de Courfeyrac sent a letter,” his mother said, somewhat smugly, and Enjolras had the feeling she had been waiting until the last moment possible to spring this on him, “saying that a mutual friend of yours was also visiting relations nearby and asked if we would be so generous as to let him ride back with you.”





	Un Virée en Voiture

**Author's Note:**

  * For [adorablecrab](https://archiveofourown.org/users/adorablecrab/gifts).
  * Translation into 中文 available: [【中文翻译】Un Virée en Voiture 祝你旅途愉快](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19269469) by [foverx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/foverx/pseuds/foverx)



> For the wonderful [deboracabral](http://deboracabral.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Added caveat: I know exceedingly little about French transportation during the 1830s. Since I'd hardly let a little thing like that stop me from writing a canon-era roadtrip, I did some quick research, but, like, the bare minimum research, so kindly forgive any unintended anachronisms.
> 
> Other than that, usual disclaimer. Please be kind and tip your fanfic writers in the form of comments and/or kudos!

“Are you certain I cannot convince you to stay another day?” Enjolras’s mother asked as she stood next to him, watching the coachman strap down Enjolras’s valise.

“Absolutely certain,” Enjolras told her, his voice slightly strained as it was wont to be after a few days in the country with his family. “I have work I must attend to, and I fear much will have fallen by the wayside in my absence.”

His mother _tsk_ -ed and looked at him critically. “I do not believe things will fall apart so easily by you taking a few days to visit with your family, but I know I will have less luck convincing you of that.”

Enjolras almost managed a smile. “Less luck indeed,” he assured her before leaning in to kiss her cheek. “Goodbye, maman.”

She patted his cheek as he pulled away. “I suspect we will see you come spring or summer?” she said, the slight lift in her voice turning the statement into a question. “Your father and I will likely be in Paris for at least some of the season.”

“I suspect if you wish to find me, you shall,” Enjolras returned, slightly waspish at having to bite his tongue once more but wishing not to again get in an argument over how the elite classes chose to spend their time, though he could not help but add, “At the barricades, at least, should the city again turn to revolution.”

Mme. Enjolras pursed her lips. “I wish you would not joke of such things.”

“And I promise you, I do not joke.” Enjolras sighed and glanced at the coachman, who was standing at the ready. “Now I really must go.”

“Will you not wait for your friend’s arrival?”

Enjolras paused. “My friend?” he asked blankly. “What friend?”

“Your delightful associate Mr. de Courfeyrac sent a letter,” his mother said, somewhat smugly, and Enjolras had the feeling she had been waiting until the last moment possible to spring this on him, “saying that a mutual friend of yours was also visiting relations nearby and asked if we would be so generous as to let him ride back with you.” She sniffed somewhat haughtily. “Of course, I was more than accommodating, though I do not know why. It is a mere twelve francs to Paris by _dilligence_ , and I fear what sort your friend might be if he is unable to afford even such travel.”

Enjolras gritted his teeth. “I am certain he could afford it and then some, but it seems little trouble when I’m already taking our carriage back to Paris. Especially since you insisted I do so rather than take the stagecoach myself.”

Mme. Enjolras’s hand pressed dramatically against her chest. “As though I would be so careless with the safety of my only boy,” she said, scandalized. “When there are brigands and who knows what else who might descend upon a public coach.”

“I would imagine they’d have more luck descending upon your carriage,” Enjolras sighed. “But that is hardly the point.”

“Indeed it is not, especially as I see your friend at the gate now,” his mother said sweetly, and Enjolras turned, startled, even more startled than that to see a familiar figure with dark, unruly curls making his way up the drive. “I do not believe this is one of your acquaintances whom I have met.”

Indeed it was not, if only because Enjolras had previously been unable to decide which was the worse idea: inflicting Grantaire, with his usual perfume of stale wine and ill humors, on his unsuspecting mother, or, perhaps even more terrible an idea, inflicting his mother, who was watching Grantaire’s approach looking far too much like a cat that had gotten into the cream, on Grantaire.

In either case, it was a disaster waiting to happen, and Enjolras made a mental note that upon their arrival in Paris, his first stop should be to Courfeyrac’s apartment where he would gladly murder his friend for putting him in this situation.

Grantaire smiled when he drew near, looking perfectly at ease as he made his way toward them with something of his usual swagger, though perhaps lacking his usual drunken sway. “Enjolras, my friend, you look hale and hearty this fine day,” Grantaire said jovially, not awaiting Enjolras’s reply before turning to his mother. “And you look far too young to be his mother, madame,” he said, making an elegant leg that would have looked ridiculous had anyone else attempted it but somehow just seemed charming as he bent to press a kiss to Mme. Enjolras’s hand. “Enchanté.”

Enjolras’s mother giggled, and Enjolras made a second mental note adding Grantaire to his list of homicides.

“Delighted to meet you as well, Mr…?”

She trailed off and Grantaire offered her a toothy grin. “Grantaire,” he said smoothly. “With my thanks for your brief hospitality here and the allowance to join your son on our jaunt back to the city.”

“Oh, it was no trouble,” she said, waving a dismissive hand. “One must seek to save a sous here and there in these unpredictable times.”

Evidently, Enjolras’s mother had decided that Grantaire getting a ride with him was frugal rather than a sign of low class, and Enjolras ground his teeth together. “Maman, we really must go,” he said, his tone clipped as he turned to Grantaire. “Have you any luggage?”

Grantaire waved his hand in a gesture eerily reminiscent of Enjolras’s mother just moments ago. “Other than the small case I gave to your man, no. This was not a planned jaunt into the country but luckily my parents still keep something of a wardrobe for me.”

“As it should be,” Enjolras’s mother said with an approving nod. “There is no need to bring your clothes back and forth from Paris when we’ve plenty of room here.”

“Grateful as I am that you can afford to keep me outfitted in two places at once,” Enjolras said from between clenched teeth, “not everyone is so lucky.”

“All the more reason for you to be grateful for it,” his mother said sweetly.

Grantaire looked far too amused as he glanced between them, but evidently decided amusement was not worth it as he cleared his throat before telling Enjolras’s mother, “It really is quite generous of you, and if ever I am able to return the favor for your son, you have my word. But now we must be off as I’m sure Enjolras has something seditious in the city that requires his attention.”

Enjolras glowered but his mother laughed. “And what of you?”

“Madame, I assure you, I prefer the salacious over the seditious.”

Mme. Enjolras laughed again and Grantaire gave another shot bow before clambering into the carriage. Enjolras’s mother caught his arm before he could follow. “I like him,” she said. “You should bring him around more often.”

“I certainly would not plan on it,” Enjolras told his mother, kissing her cheek once more before following Grantaire into the carriage. He collapsed opposite of Grantaire and let out a sigh before glaring at him. “I do hope you’re proud of yourself.”

“I assure you, I am,” Grantaire said with a smirk.

Enjolras sighed once more, staring out the window as the carriage pulled away. “If I did not know better I would assume you had followed me to the country as some form of Divine punishment.”

Grantaire laughed. “Not even God would be that cruel,” he assured Enjolras, tilting his head back against the seat back and closing his eyes. “I had to visit my father. He’s not well.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Enjolras said, surprising even himself at his own sincerity.

Grantaire just shrugged, not opening his eyes. “I will not pretend that he and I are close,” he said. “But it is my duty to on occasion check in on my sister.”

“I did not know you had a sister.”

Grantaire cracked one eye open, half-smiling. “I imagine there is a great deal that you don’t know about me.”

There was little that Enjolras could say to that, so he busied himself with getting his papers in order while Grantaire seemed to fall asleep. At the very least, his breathing turned loud and heavy enough for him to be asleep, and Enjolras pursed his lips but in the end decided it would be better for his own productivity than if Grantaire were awake.

As he was scanning a pamphlet Combeferre had given him, Grantaire hand reached out and tugged at the tie holding the shade up, letting the flap fall down to cover the window. Enjolras scowled. “Really?” he asked, and Grantaire shifted, his eyes still closed.

“The sun was falling in my eyes,” he muttered, and Enjolras rolled his eyes.

“Keep them closed and I imagine it shall not be much of an issue,” he said waspishly, reaching out to the tie the shade back up again.

Not even five minutes further had passed before Grantaire again loosed the shade, darkening the carriage compartment instantly. Enjolras slapped his papers down and glared at Grantaire, who somehow managed to look pleased with himself even with his eyes still firmly closed. “Are you quite done?”

“Certainly, as the sun is no longer shining directly into my eyes.”

Enjolras scowled. “Whilst you may intend on sleeping this entire trip, I have work that must be done, work which requires being able to see.” He again tied the shade up and Grantaire blinked blearily at him. “If again you touch this, I swear to you I shall make the coachman return to my parents’ estate.”

Grantaire shrugged languidly and rubbed his eyes. “My good fellow, if you wish to go away from our destination rather than towards it, that is certainly your prerogative, but I fail to see what triumph there may be in delaying your own return as well as mine.”

Enjolras gritted his teeth. “Then I pray you remember that I am perfectly capable of making you return to Paris on foot.”

Grantaire just chuckled softly. “Touché.”

As Enjolras returned to his papers, Grantaire pulled out a sketchbook, and Enjolras paused just briefly enough to watch as Grantaire began the rough outline of what looked like the landscape outside. “I figured if you’re going to force me to leave the shade up, I may as well take advantage of the view,” Grantaire remarked, and Enjolras flushed, quickly looking back at his own papers.

“Of course,” he said politely, for lack of anything better to say.

Silence again fell between them, a slightly strained silence that Enjolras would be tempted to break were he traveling with anyone other than Grantaire. Instead, he brought out his pen and ink and set about trying to write a pamphlet ahead of their upcoming meeting, soothed somewhat by the scratch of Grantaire’s pen against the paper.

But where Grantaire’s pen seemed to be moving in a rhythmic fashion, Enjolras’s pen seemed to slip across the page with no regard for his effort to keep it in place, the rough pavement that jostled the carriage taking its toll. “Merde,” he swore as an inkstain all but blotted what few words he had managed to get down.

Grantaire glanced up at him. “Are you having difficulty?” he asked.

“Yes, because the road keeps—” As if to prove his point, the carriage hit what felt like a loose stone and Enjolras fell forward, almost landing in Grantaire’s lap.

Grantaire, at least, had the grace not to laugh as he helped Enjolras back into his seat. “Why am I seeing a pamphlet on the necessity of infrastructure improvements in the near future?” he mused, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth.

Enjolras glared at him. “Why are you not having this problem?” he snapped.

“To begin, natural talent,” Grantaire said blithely, watching as Enjolras hunched over his parchment as if it might somehow keep his pen in place. It didn’t. “But I am also well used to drawing wherever I am able to find a perch.” He cleared his throat as Enjolras’s ink bottle almost turned over. “As I imagine you are not.”

Enjolras swore again and Grantaire sighed, setting aside his sketchbook and holding out his hand. “Give it here.”

Enjolras looked up at him, startled. “What?”

“Your paper. Give it here.”

“Why?”

Grantaire sighed again. “Must I spell it out for you? I have little difficulty with the road conditions, so I will write while you dictate.”

Enjolras gaped at him. “You—what?”

“I will write, you will dictate,” Grantaire repeated, slower than before as if Enjolras hadn’t heard him properly.

“But — why?”

“For the good of humanity,” Grantaire said, maintaining a straight face, though only barely. When Enjolras just stared at him, he rolled his eyes. “Because it is better than listening to you curse under your breath the entire trip back to Paris. Now give it here.”

Though Enjolras hesitantly handed over his paper, he couldn’t help but ask, “Do you plan on leaving your usual editorial comments in the margins?”

Grantaire grinned. “Would you expect anything less?”

Truthfully, Enjolras did not realize what to expect, and he chose not to comment.

To his even greater surprise, dictating while Grantaire wrote worked better than expected. Enjolras watched Grantaire’s hand fly over the page, his voice settling into a rhythm to match. In fact, they might have maintained that rhythm the entire way back to Paris were it not for the carriage coming to a rather sudden stop, again sending Enjolras flying into Grantaire’s lap.

As he picked himself up, he called to the coachman, “Is there a problem?”

“My apologies, Monsieur,” the coachman said, his face appearing in the window. “The wheel’s gotten stuck, sir.”

Enjolras sighed but Grantaire looked intrigued more than inconvenienced, clambering out of the carriage as Enjolras reluctantly followed suit. “Ah, the perils of country living,” Grantaire said as he peered at the carriage wheel, which had sunk well into a patch of mud.

“You say that as if there is no mud in the city,” Enjolras said dryly.

“Certainly there is, but also more people around to help,” Grantaire said cheerfully, unbuttoning his jacket and waistcoat.

“There is no need for that, sir, I’m certain I’ll get it free,” the coachman said quickly, looking stricken as Grantaire tugged his cravat off.

Grantaire waved a dismissive hand. “Nonsense, it will go easier with both of us, and besides, I always enjoy showing off.”

He gave Enjolras a roguish wink and Enjolras blushed, even as he rolled his eyes. But he did not look away for long, watching as Grantaire, stripped down to his shirtsleeves, got right into the mud with the coachman. He couldn’t help but stare as Grantaire’s muscles strained and moved under the thin material of his shirt, and he was quite glad there were no other witnesses to this, certain that he was gaping.

Soon enough, the carriage was free, and Grantaire stood up and gestured for Enjolras to return into the carriage first, climbing on after him. Against his better judgment, Enjolras watched Grantaire with new appreciation as the man tried in vain to brush the dirt and muck from his trousers and hands. “Well,” Grantaire said with a small laugh, “I suspect you rather don’t want me sullying your fine parchment with my muddy hands now.”

“I do not think that dirt gained through honest labor can sully much,” Enjolras told him lightly.

“Don’t go conflating me with Feuilly or one of the noble working class,” Grantaire warned him, using his cravat as a handkerchief to wipe his hands. “I did this as much for my own benefit as anything.”

“Never would I suggest otherwise,” Enjolras said, but he was smiling.

Grantaire rolled his eyes, but the silence that stretched between them this time was comfortable with an unspoken camaraderie.

So much so that Enjolras realized with a pang as they approached Paris that he was not looking forward to this carriage ride ending. Certainly he was looking forward to being back in the city, back doing the work that needed to be done, but something about watching the afternoon sun play lightly across Grantaire’s face, something about reading while Grantaire hummed off-key, something about the whole situation felt more like home than Enjolras’s own flat often did.

It was a stupid thought and Enjolras’s brow furrowed as he shook his head as if to clear it. “Did you tell the driver where to drop you once we get back to the city?” he asked, his tone turning businesslike.

Grantaire shook his head. “I can walk from yours easily enough. No need for a second stop.”

“I’m certain it would be no trouble—”

“No more trouble than a walk would do me,” Grantaire told him. “Especially since who knows what trouble I might find on my way, and the salacious type of trouble at that.”

He laughed at his own joke but Enjolras remained silent. He should let good enough be, let Grantaire make his way to his own apartment in his own time, but much as he did not wish the carriage ride to end, so too did he not want that.

So he threw caution to the wind. “Unless you wish to seek out trouble this eve, I thought perhaps you might sup with me when we get back.”

Grantaire stared at him. “What makes you think that supping with you would get me in any less trouble?” he asked.

Enjolras huffed a sigh. “It was just a thought,” he said, irritated, and Grantaire shook his head.

“But what of whatever you have waiting for you upon your return?”

Enjolras jerked a shrug. “It is nothing that will not wait a few hours and besides, as you are so fond of telling me, I must still eat as I cannot live on sedition alone.”

“Indeed not,” Grantaire said with a slow smile. “Well, if you do not mind that I will be sweaty and disheveled for supper—”

“Which is truly different from your normal appearance,” Enjolras interjected, deadpan, and Grantaire laughed.

“A fair point. And very well. If you’re content to be seen with one such as myself—”

“Grantaire,” Enjolras interrupted, somewhat gentler than he intended, and he hoped Grantaire would not read too far into that, “there is never a time where I would not be content to be seen with you.”

Again Grantaire seemed taken aback. “It seems the country air has softened you,” he said, seemingly for lack of something else to say. “Whoever would have thought it.”

“The country air, a carriage ride…” Enjolras shrugged. “It does wonders for the constitution.”

“So it would seem,” Grantaire murmured, looking at Enjolras closely. “I shall have to tell Joly.”

Enjolras laughed. “I imagine you shall, though he’ll claim it’s something to do with different magnetic fields outside of the city.”

“Then perhaps Combeferre should make a scientific study of it,” Grantaire suggested, his grin indicating he wasn’t serious.

Still, Enjolras shook his head. “No,” he mused, “I suspect there would be too many confounding variables for Combeferre’s liking.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, as I imagine just as important as country air is one’s companion when taking it in.”

Grantaire stared at him, a smile again creeping across his face. “Is that so?”

“Yes,” Enjolras said determinedly.

“Well,” Grantaire said, his smile soft and wide as he looked at Enjolras, “you certainly won’t hear me argue with that.”

“There really is a first time for everything,” Enjolras remarked, and Grantaire just laughed.


End file.
